Ardor
by Telarana
Summary: Harry is entranced by a certain someone. What are the consequences of such obsession?
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note**_: Though this is a oneshot, I will have a prequel. Which is why it is listed as "In Progress". Please R&R! I appreciate the comments greatly.

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Was it a dream? Or an alternate universe? Was it a reminiscence of the past? Or was it reality, that he had somehow found his way into his life again, leading him on a rollercoaster of hidden, frustrating and pent up emotions that he couldn't seem to rid himself of no matter how hard he tried?

It was always the same set of events. Lie to his friends about how tired he was and go to his room early, so he could get prepared for the night's encounter. Lie in bed after he was dressed and groomed, and wait until his roommates' snoring filled the room, signaling that they were fast asleep. Then, creep out of the Gryffindor dormitory and head towards the Room of Requirement, the only place where they ever met, the only place where they could ever meet again.

He couldn't remember when his feelings of hatred and disgust had given way to a strong, hot desire, one that filled him until he could barely move anymore, simply swoon over thoughts of him. Was it since the first kiss? Or maybe it was the way that he had approached Harry, his lips brushing against his ear, and his cold whispers sending shivers down the boy's spine. Could it have been the way his nails had dug into Harry's shoulders, or how his hands had clutched him, pinning him against the wall so it bruised?

"I won't hurt you," the boy's eyes had glinted mischievously, "unless you want me to."

But he had wanted it. He had wanted everything that the other boy had been willing to give to him.

He walked three times in front of the door, not even bothering to clear his mind since his thoughts would bring up the room that he was searching for nonetheless, and then he pushed his way into the dark room, only lit by candles with a red flame that he was sure his lover had conjured. Closing the door behind him, he walked into the center of the room, looking around for the person he knew was there.

"You're late," came a slithering voice in his ear, the closeness of his body heat already making the hair on the nape of Harry's neck stand up.

He turned around, facing Tom's cool stare. "Sorry. Filch."

The other boy came closer, speaking his words in their private language of parseltongue. "_I wanted you_."

The cold fingers that grabbed his chin made Harry's breath freeze in his chest, coming with more effort and deliberation. A finger stroked along his jaw line, another hand underneath his shirt, caressing his stomach in a way that made his knees weak with longing. Then those lips were on his, pulling him into a hard kiss, full of desire and impatience, which Harry returned in full. Their mouths opened, tongue touching for a brief moment before Tom pulled Harry's tongue between his teeth and bit it, making the other boy's heart beat faster and a slight groan escape him, full of both pain and need.

Tom pulled back, his lips curving in a cold smile for a slight second before rubbing his now bloody tongue over his teeth. "You taste just as delicious as you look."

Harry blushed involuntarily; the way Tom had said it implying that he knew exactly how much of an effort he put into getting ready for one of their Room of Requirement encounters. A hand pushed its way through the Gryffindor's hair, and he closed his eyes to hide the weak and pleading look that had filled them. He hated how easily Tom could manipulate him, causing him to groan with pleasure even when he wasn't willing to. It made him angry whenever he thought about it, and about how pathetic he was around his lover. But he could never resist; the temptation was too great.

His shirt came off, and he felt it drop to the floor, not even sure when the buttons had been undone. He sat on the edge of the bed, using the other boy's Slytherin robes to drag him towards him. The black garment slid off easily, revealing clothes that fit the handsome boy's figure perfectly beneath it. Harry put his arms around Tom's neck and pulled him closer, gasping as teeth broke the surface of skin on his own neck.

_Flash._

Harry froze. Then he looked around for the source of the white light. Tom grabbed his head and roughly forced him to look his way, his eyes narrowed in irritation.

"Did you just see a flash?" Harry asked, glancing around once more for the source of the light, but finding it hard as his head was still in the other boy's grip.

"I saw nothing."

"But there was something! I saw it."

"You are imagining things."

Hands were on his spine now, trailing their way up slowly, causing him to want to melt into the Slytherin's arms.

He turned to look at Tom, not allowing himself to be distracted just yet, when a mouth crashed on his own, biting into his lower lip, hard fingertips pressing into his lower back. A torrent of heated emotions enveloped him, overpowering his brain, and effectively preventing him from noticing the subsequent flashes that followed.

_xxxxxxxx_

The pictures were everywhere. Pictures of his secret shame. Pictures of what had happened. Everything was exposed for the entire world to see. And the whole world did, or at least inside of Hogwarts, but it wouldn't be long until even outside of Hogwarts they knew as well. That's how it always was.

Harry stomped his way to the Room of Requirement with no regard for avoiding the stares or insulting whispers that followed him from students as he walked by. The professors were slowly cleaning all the explicit pictures—made even worse by the fact that they were moving—from all the school's nooks and crannies. But even that wasn't enough to stop the comments. They had adopted a position of silence, glancing at Harry only if they had to, and then with a mixture of embarrassment, admonition, and disappointment. He hadn't been called to the Headmaster's office yet, but he was sure that once he was, it wouldn't be pretty. Tom's face had never been shown, and Harry had no intention of admitting who it had been. He would have to make up a believable story along the way. After all, Harry had "killed" him in his second year. Claiming that Tom Riddle was the boy who he had been sleeping with would get him a one-way ticket to St. Mungo's.

He crossed the wall that lead to the Room of Requirement twenty-one times before it finally opened. The first six times were marked by him thinking about his anger and about school, neither helping him to open the door to the room that he was looking for. Upon opening it, he crossed to the center of the room, it lighting itself up as he went, and he looked around.

"Come out! I know you're here!"

Nothing.

He frowned and started to pace in several random directions at once. After several minutes of doing this, trying to think and hold in all of the emotions that seemed to be overcoming him, Harry burst. He started to yell obscenities, angry remarks about what the scandal was going to do to his life, and how he would now have to hide away from the magical world, disguised as an old cat lady for the rest of his life. He tried to bait the boy, guilt him, and reason him into coming out. Until finally, he gave up on yelling, deciding to sit down and wait.

Tom couldn't hide forever.

_xxxxxxxx_

But apparently he could. The boy never showed up. Harry wasn't sure how long was in there, whether it was hours or days. He slept. And he paced. He yelled more. He slumped. And eventually, he gave up, deciding that maybe Tom was a figment of his imagination after all. Perhaps he was fooling himself. Or perhaps he was slowly going insane.

On his way to the door, his knee ran into the corner of a table that he was certain hadn't been there the previous times that he had been in the room.

On the desk was a white piece of parchment, with neat and legible handwriting on it, saying only three words.

_Come to me._

And underneath the words was a glistening dagger.


	2. Prequel

_Authors Note: This serves as more of an explanation for how the relationship happened. The passionate part is in the first chapter. _XD

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**_Prequel_**

There was a soft rustle and then a thump, as a cloth bag full of heavy books hit the gray stone floor. The room was vacant, full of shadows and gloom, as if mocking the current mood that Harry was in at that instant.

It wasn't depression that he was filled with. Instead it was a dark anger, one that poured into every part of him, filling him up until he thought that he would burst. Unlike the random outbursts of anger that overcame him occasionally, this one had a dangerous hint to it, as if it would take itself out on anyone unlucky enough to pass it. Even though it was only aimed at one person in particular, the Gryffindor had felt that he needed to get away from all of the people around him; he didn't want to hurt them involuntarily. And besides, this burden was his to deal with and his alone.

The source of his anger, the source of his current obsessive thoughts and dangerous desires, was none other than Voldemort. The reason why he was an orphan, the reason why he was a legend, and the cause of all of the troubles that he had faced. It seemed like countless times that they had fought, ages that they had been enemies, and such a scale of hatred for each other that it seemed that it could cover the entire country of Britain. At that second, what Harry wished for more than anything was to encounter Voldemort, if only so he could send the man to an untimely and painful grave.

_Is that so?_

As if the voice were a cue that he had been waiting on, Harry spun around, holding his wand aloft for both light and protection as he looked around the seemingly empty stone chamber.

"Who's there?" he called, his breath turning short and quick, and his heart starting to race from excitement.

The voice didn't answer, but Harry had already placed its amused, cold and strangely familiar tone.

"Voldemort," he breathed, his eager and suspecting inquiry more a statement of fact than a question of any sort.

_In a manner of speaking…_

Harry's eyes flitted around the room, looking for the person that was speaking to him, but already doubts were forming in his mind. Maybe Voldemort wasn't actually there at all, but was manipulating him into thinking that he was, using the ever powerful connection between their minds to fulfill whatever malicious purpose he had planned for him. Harry took a step back to see the shadows in front of him more clearly. Though he suspected that it was a trick, he didn't want to give up on the notion of Voldemort's physical presence just yet.

_"I am here."_

This time the words came to him in parseltongue. Harry felt a mouth against his ear as the lips grazed his earlobe, speaking in the strange hisses that only the two occupants of the room could understand. On his back he could feel the close body heat of the person who was currently standing behind him.

For the third and final time that evening, the Gryffindor turned around. This time, his wand didn't swoosh through the empty air as it swung; it met a hard and solid arm. Harry faltered as he stared up at the boy in front of him, mouth opening and his wand hand dropping ever so slightly. He took a step back.

"Tom Riddle?" Harry blinked and frowned in disbelief and confusion. "But I killed you in my second year."

Tom's hard stare bore into him. "Death has many forms."

There was a split second's pause, and then both of the boys moved at the same time, Harry raising his wand up to Tom's neck, his mouth already forming the first syllable of a deadly spell on its lips, and Tom grabbing Harry's wand hand and his other arm, forcing the boy against the wall.

Harry struggled but was unable to move, his hand crushed in Tom's fist, his back already starting to hurt from the pressure with which it had been forced against the wall. They stared at each other, Tom's expression having dissolved into a sort of fierce hunger, Harry's face filled with anger and loathing. Suddenly Harry found Tom's teeth biting into his lower lip, droplets of blood rolling down his chin. The boy's hands slid down his waist, increasing their strong grip as they went, and Tom pressed his body closer to him, the actions evident of his strong desire.

Harry collapsed into a fit of uncontrollable shivers, the intensity of Tom's craving both frightening and exciting him. Tom's hands were urgent, insistent, and demanding, their force making all of the anger that had been building up inside of him for weeks turn into something much different: lust. He suddenly felt the urge for distraction, all of his emotions slipping under the threshold of his consciousness, his focus being shifted to only the current situation at hand. The passion of Tom's desire was something entirely new, and he had to admit, it turned him on. Part of him was completely sickened by what was happening, and that he was even considering giving in to his archenemy, the boy who had become Voldemort of all people. However, he found himself slipping into the other teen's ministrations and he couldn't resist. He had to have him.

His wand dropped from his grip as he wrapped his arms around Tom's neck, pulling him closer and crashing their lips together for a quick and barely satisfying kiss. He felt the Slytherin's nails dig into the small of his back, and he couldn't help but make a sound, half a whimper of pain and half a plea for more.

He felt, rather than saw, Tom's knowing smirk on the underside of his chin, as layers of his clothes came off, allowing the teen more access to his bare skin. Soon he was covered in small scratches and bites, bruises and drops of blood. Stifled cries and moans occasionally escaped his lips, piercing the still air around them, and their sweat and heat created a tangible aura between them. Snatches of parseltongue were whispered to each other, tongues flickering with the words, teasing and taunting them both. Once there was a small break in their affairs, long enough for Tom to tell him that he wouldn't hurt him, unless he wanted him to. Nevertheless, a glint in Tom's eye gave away the fact that he knew well enough he was already causing Harry pain. It came with a slight moan, a look of intense longing, and a frown of slight irritation at the fact that they had stopped in the first place, that Harry assured Tom that he wanted him to do everything to him, even if it hurt.

And everything, they certainly did. Even the things past the point where Harry wasn't entirely sure if he should go farther or not, and the things he wasn't sure that he wouldn't regret later. By the time that they had ended, Harry was panting and lying against a wall speckled with droplets of his own blood, and Tom was standing over him, his eyes passing over Harry's body in thought and approval. It took a lot of effort and a bit of time for Harry to finally stand up straight, get dressed, and get his head sorted out. He picked up his bag and walked out, rather stiff, walking strangely from the legs that were still asleep from standing on them in a strange position for so long.

He only looked back as he was closing the door to the Room of Requirement, enough to see Tom standing there, looking at him with an amused expression on his face, fully knowing the only reason why Harry would ever use the room from then on.


End file.
